


my drum gonna make you come

by orphan_account



Series: fast blood [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames stares at him for a minute. "You refuse to have sex with me?" he asks, finally. "In order to...have sex with me?"</p><p>Arthur nods smugly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my drum gonna make you come

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Damien Rice's "Me, My Yolk, and I".

Somehow, Arthur's experiments in gay sex end with a boyfriend. He's not entirely sure how it happens, particularly since his parents coming home when the two were drowsing, half-naked and post-coital, on the couch, very nearly ended up getting Eames murdered.

But Eames didn't get murdered, and now he comes in from the city a couple days a week, picking Arthur up and attempting to take him on dates, which more often than not end up with Eames giving him head in the backseat of his shitty car, which Arthur can't exactly complain about.

What Arthur can complain about is that after four months, three of which he has spent at the slightly less morally questionable age of seventeen, Eames flat out refuses to fuck him. It's a weird sticking point, since Eames is more than willing to put his mouth around Arthur's cock, and let Arthur do the same, but as soon as Arthur's ass and Eames' dick are mentioned in the same sentence, he balks.

"You have the stupidest reasoning I've ever heard of," Arthur tells him as Eames is speeding to get him home before curfew and avoid Arthur's parents' wrath. He's managed to charm them, a little, but some things, like curfew, cannot be avoided.

"So you have told me many times," Eames says. "And yet my answer remains the same."

Arthur glares at the streetlights they're speeding past.

"You're really not going to be dissuaded, are you?" Eames asks.

"No," Arthur says, and crosses his arms.

"That doesn't make you look very mature," Eames says, mouth twitching up.

Arthur hurriedly uncrosses his arms, then scowls. "You don't even have a good reason," he mutters.

"Oh right," Eames says. "Nevermind the fact you're an infant."

"That doesn't stop you with anything else," Arthur says.

"Yes," Eames says. "We've already discussed the fact I'm a horrible person. But I'm trying to have _some_ morals here."

"You have morals at really inconvenient times," Arthur complains. Eames parks his car outside Arthur's house. Arthur could swear he sees the curtains flutter.

"I know, pet," Eames says, then reaches a hand out and tugs Arthur closer. Arthur scowls at him. "I'm very sorry," Eames says, "but I'm still not going to fuck you."

"You suck," Arthur says, and hides a smile in Eames' neck when Eames kisses his temple.

"I do," Eames says. "Now head along inside and do your homework, that's a dear."

"I fucking hate you," Arthur informs him, but he doesn't duck out of the kiss Eames catches him in.

*

"It's just semantics," Arthur says. "It's not like we haven't done shit already, it's like he lives to annoy me."

"So let me get this straight," Ariadne says. "Eames is being all gentlemanly and that's annoying?"

"Exactly," Arthur says.

"You know," Ariadne says. "I really kind of hate you sometimes."

"Ugh," Arthur says, then drops his head against his desk.

"Yes," Ariadne says. "Your life is so hard, with your hot, British, grad school boyfriend."

"It is," Arthur mumbles, but when he looks up, Ariadne really doesn't look too sympathetic.

*

Arthur has a plan. It's not exactly an elegant plan, but he doesn't really know how elegant a plan to lose his virginity could be.

It goes like this:

His parents go out of town for the weekend to visit his grandmother, warning him sternly that Eames isn't allowed to come over. Arthur obeys the letter, if not the spirit; they're gone an hour before Eames picks him up, because for someone who doesn't want to get involved in the delinquency of minors, he really seems to enjoy assisting in Arthur's minor endeavours to be a delinquent.

Arthur packs lube and condoms in his overnight bag, because he has hope. Ariadne had responded to his plan with "wow, when Eames breaks up with you, tell him his manly shoulders can come cry on me whenever they want", and cried with laughter as Arthur went apoplectic.

But it's a good plan, he thinks, it'll work, so when they reach Eames' place, Arthur sits smack in the middle of the bed and says "If you don't fuck me, I'm not putting out."

Eames stares at him for a minute. "You refuse to have sex with me?" he asks, finally. "In order to...have sex with me?"

Arthur nods smugly.

Eames' mouth twitches, and Arthur can tell he's trying to look serious, but he ruins it with a grin.

"You are adorable," Eames tells him, and Arthur scowls, because that is not the response he was looking for.

"I brought lube," Arthur mutters. "And condoms."

"My Arthur," Eames says, still grinning. "Always so prepared."

"I fingered myself in the shower," Arthur tells him. What he doesn't tell him is that it was mostly uncomfortable, and he almost slipped and knocked his head, and he's pretty sure the angle was all wrong. "I know what I'm in for."

Eames swallows. "Ridiculously hot images beside," he says, and he sounds a little choked. "The answer's still no. We can simply cuddle this weekend, if you prefer."

Arthur doesn't want to cuddle. He was expecting surrender, not counter-attack.

"Eames," he says in what he really hopes doesn't sound like a whine.

"Arthur," Eames says, and he's grinning again.

Arthur is struck with the beauty of another plan. He pulls his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" Eames asks suspiciously.

Arthur unbuttons his pants, shifts up to slide them off.

"Oh no," Eames says. "Arthur."

Arthur raises an eyebrow and goes into his bag for the lube, and shucks his briefs. He feels faintly ridiculous, naked on Eames' bed with Eames standing fully dressed in front of him, but he's stubborn. He has a fucking plan. He slicks his fingers.

"You are a horrible person and I hate you," Eames says faintly.

Arthur sticks his tongue out, which makes him feel like an idiot, but it seems like the right thing to do. Eames' mouth twitches at him, but before he can slide into a grin and distract Arthur from his mission, Arthur's sliding a hand between his legs, pushing a finger into himself, slow against the burn.

"Arthur," Eames says, and he isn't even close to smiling. He looks like he's just been slapped.

"Hm?" Arthur asks, shifting so the angle's better, pulling his knee up to his chest. He feels exposed, but that's sort of the point, isn't it, to expose himself and hope that's enough to fight Eames' shoddy restraint.

He moves his finger, carefully slow, adjusting until it feels like less of an invasion, and then presses another finger in, twists them and doesn't bother to muffle the gasp it pulls out of him. Eames' breathing is audible, stuttered and shaky.

"I thought about you," Arthur says, and his voice comes out steady, which he's proud of. "In the shower, with my fingers in my ass. I thought about you in me."

"Christ, Arthur," Eames says.

"Please," Arthur says, and his voice loses its steadiness, comes out needy, but he's past caring. "Please, jesus, I want you all the time, and I don't know how to deal with that."

And Eames looks frozen, but then he's moving, taking the handful of steps to bring him to the edge of the bed. He wraps a hand around Arthur's ankle, and that touch alone feels like a brand.

"Please," Arthur stutters out, scissoring his fingers, hips lifting up, just barely, and then Eames is tugging his shirt over his head, fighting with his jeans and boxers until he's sliding onto the bed beside Arthur, all one long lean line of skin.

"You are going to be the death of me," Eames says, and then kisses him, sharp, more teeth than tongue, and his hand slides down to where Arthur's fingers are moving, and tugs them, slowly, until Arthur pulls them out.

"There are condoms in my bag," Arthur mumbles against Eames' mouth, and Eames makes a noise halfway between laughter and tears, and pulls back. He looks at Arthur, and his face is more serious than Arthur thinks he's ever seen it.

"You're sure," Eames says.

Arthur nods, because he thinks he's halfway in love with Eames, more than halfway, falling like some stupid teenager because he is one and Eames is absolutely perfect, even in the way he's kind of a dick sometimes, and teases Arthur constantly, and isn't happy unless he's pissing Arthur off. He thinks he's a lot in love with him.

"Okay," Eames says, and slides halfway off the bed so Arthur can watch him root through the bag, so Arthur can curl his hand around the ink on his skin and squeeze, watch the flex of Eames' back as he straightens up.

Eames rolls the condom on with a practiced motion Arthur doesn't want to think too much about, because it'll inevitably make him feel young and inexperienced and stupid. Instead he focuses on Eames' hands, on the way he pours the lube in, wraps a hand around his cock, teeth biting into the plush of his bottom lip. He's the most gorgeous thing Arthur has ever seen.

"Darling," Eames says, his clean hand carding through the curls where Arthur's hair has come loose from gel, twisting it in his fingers.

"Yes," Arthur says, because whatever Eames is asking, the answer is yes.

Eames nods, tight, then guides himself, the blunt press of his cock against Arthur almost more than Arthur can bear. He moves slow, so slow, stopping every time the edge of pain makes itself known on Arthur's face, even though it looks like the effort is killing him.

"You're beautiful," Eames says, half breathless, and Arthur wraps his legs around Eames' waist and pulls him in, even though it brings the ache back, burns through him.

"You aren't going to break me, god," Arthur manages, even through the twist of pain, and Eames looks like he's considering laughing, but instead he just moves, rocking his hips, slow, until the ache shifts into something else.

With the first long, slow thrust, Eames manages to press against Arthur's prostate, which Arthur was starting to think didn't exist, with all the luck he'd had in finding it.

"Oh my god," Arthur says, toes curling. "Oh my god, do that again. Preferably forever."

Eames does laugh then, a short, surprised bark, but Arthur doesn't hold it against him when Eames does as he's told, and then wraps a hand around Arthur's cock, smearing pre-come and lube over the head.

"Oh my god," Arthur repeats, and he's sure he sounds like a broken record, but it's all he can say when Eames is in him, hips steady and just a little rough, enough that he knows he's going to feel it the next day. His hand is perfect, just right, and Arthur is seventeen, so he isn't really surprised when he comes after what feels like seconds, overwhelmed by sensation.

"Oh my god," Arthur hears dimly, and it isn't him, he doesn't think, he's pretty sure it's Eames, who's still moving in him, but in quick, stuttered motions, with none of the grace he had before. Eames bites his shoulder when he comes, hard, probably enough to draw blood, but Arthur's feeling to fucked out, too hazy, to really give a shit.

Eames half collapses on him, then pulls out after a minute, despite Arthur's quiet protests, tying off the condom and throwing it blindly off the bed. He gets up and leaves the room, and Arthur's too content to really notice.

"We need to do that all the time," Arthur drowsily tells him when Eames comes back with a washcloth, dragging it, warm, over Arthur's belly.

"What does it say that you're a terrible influence on me, pet?" Eames asks, and he sounds nothing but fond.

"That you're easy," Arthur informs him.

"Hm," Eames says, in apparent agreement, and leans down to kiss his cheek.


End file.
